


Blindsided

by WritingFrances



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Smut, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-06 08:35:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11032548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingFrances/pseuds/WritingFrances
Summary: Patsy and Delia's journey through nurses' training, and their subsequent blossoming relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know this has been done to death, and probably loads better than I'm going to do it, but there's no point in not sharing it anyway, eh? I'm using a bit of creative licence and having Trixie also be around in this, even though I know she didn't train with them, I want her around! Because where's the fun without Trixie?

“Ow, _fuck_!”

Patsy looked up from her book as she heard Delia’s voice from next door.

“Delia?” She called out, closing her book in her lap. “Is everything okay?”

There was a small crash, another angry Welsh outburst, and then Delia’s voice drifted through the wall. 

“I’m fine, Pats!”

“You don’t sound fine?” Patsy stood up from her bed, leaving her book on the pillow, and headed into Delia’s room next door. She was greeted by the vision of Delia, still clad in her nurse’s uniform which was now ripped across one shoulder, a half collapsed bookshelf at her feet, surrounded by various planks of wood.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Patsy shut the door behind her, clambering over the carnage to where Delia was stood inspecting her shoulder.

“Trying to put this bastarding thing together!” Delia replied, hissing in pain as she lifted the partially torn uniform from her skin.

“Oh heavens, Delia!” Patsy came closer, noticing the extent of Delia’s injuries. A large gash was visible through the rip, blood slowly seeping through Delia’s uniform. “You absolute fool, why didn’t you just call through? I’d have come and helped you.”

Delia rolled her eyes as Patsy examined her shoulder.

“We’re going to have to get this cleaned up, Deels. It looks rather deep.” 

“You’re going to have to help me out of my uniform, then – I can barely lift my arm.” Delia huffed, clearly annoyed at admitting weakness and succumbing to Patsy’s offer of help.  
  
Patsy grabbed Delia’s arms lightly and turned her around so her back was to Patsy. 

“How did you even do it?” Patsy asked as she fiddled with the zip at the back of Delia’s uniform.

“The bloody nail!” Delia replied, pulling her hair up with one hand in a careless bun to give Patsy easier access. “It was sticking out of the wood and I didn’t realise.”  
  
Patsy rolled her eyes as she gave the zip a tug. Her stomach did a flip as she pulled it down, revealing the soft, creamy expanse of Delia’s back, pale skin contrasting against the midnight black of her bra. Patsy swallowed and realised with a jolt that her hands were shaking. Completing the zip’s journey, she slipped the shoulders of Delia’s uniform down, carefully as she passed the wound, until it was hanging loosely around her waist. Delia turned around, her eyes looking in annoyance at her injured shoulder.

“My first aid kit is just on the desk, Pats.” She pointed vaguely behind her. Patsy stood still for a moment, acutely aware of Delia’s breasts in front of her, larger than Patsy’s own, smooth and perfectly formed. She shook her head as Delia looked up, clearing the fog that had just started to creep into her brain, and slipped behind Delia to collect the kit. 

“Right, let’s have a look.” Patsy cleared her throat, speaking with more confidence than she felt, unwrapping one of the cleansing wipes from the pack. Delia gritted her teeth in pain as Patsy gently cleaned the wound, lifting Delia’s bra strap gently over the gash and down her arm. 

Patsy bit the inside of her cheek as her insides squirmed. She had spent her entire life living in close quarters amongst other women, changing with them and bathing with them, so why was this any different? She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, mortified at the idea that her body would betray her mind, holding her breath lest the sound of her breathing give away the nature of her thoughts. She cleaned the wound as carefully as possible, placing a white fabric bandage over it once she was done, and gently slid Delia’s bra strap back into place. Her fingers lingered for slightly longer than necessary on Delia’s shoulder, her eyes drifting over the light cluster of freckles on Delia’s collarbone. A knock on the door startled them both, and Patsy snatched her hand away, stumbling backwards. Delia yanked her uniform back up just as the door opened and Trixie’s head appeared around the doorway. 

“Good gracious, what’s going on in here?” She raised her eyebrows at the masses of wood strewn around Delia’s bedroom.

“Nothing!” Delia shook her head quickly and Trixie frowned, staring at the guilty looks on both girls’ faces. 

“Nothing indeed, you both look like naughty school children! Patsy, I came to find you because I need that book you borrowed yesterday.”

“Oh, yes of course, it’s just on my bed Trixie, my door’s open.” Patsy could feel the colour radiating from her face and was relieved when Trixie nodded and shut the door behind her as she left. An awkward silence filled the room, both girls painfully aware of the connotations of their haste to hide what they were doing from Trixie.

“Well. I’d better go.” Patsy said formally, making her way towards the door. 

“Yes, I think I’m going to leave this until tomorrow.” Delia looked at the floor as she mumbled her next sentence. “You can come back and help, if you want?”

Patsy paused, her hand on the door knob.

“As long as there’s no more rogue nails, I’ll be here.” She flashed Delia a lop-sided grin, alleviating some of the tension that had gathered in the room. 

Patsy pulled the door shut behind her, closing her eyes in humiliation as she leant back against it. She’d been ignoring this feeling for months now, pushed it so far back in her mind that she’d not even allowed herself to think about it. She had continued to ignore the butterflies that fluttered around her stomach the first time she saw Delia each morning, ignored the catch in her breathing whenever Delia grabbed her hand or touched her arm, ignored the name that passed over her lips in the darkness of her room, late at night when she was alone. Patsy rubbed her temples, groaning slightly in despair as she was forced to admit that ignoring this was becoming more difficult than she had anticipated. She went back into her own room and flopped down on the bed, wishing with all her might that she couldn’t hear Delia moving around at the other side of the wall, but thanking a God she didn’t believe in that she could.


	2. Chapter 2

“There!” Patsy smiled in satisfaction as the shelf she had been struggling with for ten minutes finally slotted into place. “It’s really rather pleasing when you finally get it right, isn’t it? My sister used to love trying to help put stuff like this together, I can’t say I’ve ever really been very good at it myself.”

Delia looked up in surprise.

“You never said you had a sister, Pats!” 

In fact, Patsy had rarely mentioned any family at all. Delia knew she had a father, Patsy had told her he worked in Hong Kong the first time she had asked about family, but when Delia asked about her mother, Patsy had changed the course of conversation so skilfully it wasn’t until hours later that Delia even noticed she’d never received an answer. She’d not asked again. Not directly, anyway. She’d tried to steer conversations towards the subject, left the conversational door open, as it were, for Patsy to embellish on her circumstances, but she never had done; she just moved the conversation onto other subjects with such refined ease that it was as if she’d been perfecting the routine her whole life. Delia often wondered if she had. Although Delia didn’t enjoy the thought, she was inclined to think that Patsy’s mother had died. At first, she had dismissed this theory as Patsy never appeared sad or hurt when the conversation arose, as one would expect from someone who had experienced such grief, but the more they got to know each other, and the more Delia saw Patsy acting jolly and jovial with patients who were the victims of such horrific circumstances, the more Delia realised that Patsy was hugely proficient in the art of creating smokescreens. She looked over at Patsy now, who had turned a sickly shade of white, frozen hands clutching at the screwdriver she was holding.

“I don’t.” She murmured, so quietly Delia almost didn’t catch it. 

Delia frowned, opening her mouth to question Patsy until realisation dawned on her and she caught herself just in time.

“Oh, God. Oh, Pats, I’m so sorry.” She reached her hand out towards Patsy, resting it on her arm for just a second before Patsy pulled away.

“Pass me that other screw, would you?” Patsy pointed to the pile of screws next to Delia’s leg, flashing her a smile that, although warm, Delia could only describe as professional. 

“Patsy, we don’t have to –“ Delia began softly, but Patsy cut her off.

“The long one that matches this.” Patsy held up the screw she was holding, showing it to Delia so she could match them.

Delia sighed heavily and passed Patsy the screw, accepting with reluctance yet another conversation that Patsy was refusing to have. Delia wondered how many other secrets she was hiding, and her heart broke to think of Patsy hanging onto such heavy sorrow without anyone to help lessen the burden. She knew better than to push her, though. She had been on the receiving end of Patsy’s discomfort before, and it often ended in Delia spending her evening alone, lying in bed and listening to Patsy’s records through the wall until she fell into an uneasy sleep. 

*

Delia rose early the next morning, having laid awake for most of the night, drifting in and out of a light sleep until the sun rose and daylight streamed in through her window. She slid out of bed and padded barefoot into the communal kitchen, filling the kettle, sleepily placing it on the stove as she struck a match and fired up the gas. She hopped up onto the sideboard as she waited for the water to boil, swinging her legs as she listened to the noise of the shower from the bathroom next door. The kitchen door opened just as the kettle began to whistle and Trixie popped her head around it, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her blonde hair dripping slightly as she smiled at Delia.

“I thought I heard the kettle!” She said cheerfully.

“Go and get dressed, I’ll make you a brew.” Delia smiled warmly as she hopped off the counter and grabbed two mugs, dropping a tea bag into both. Trixie and Patsy were a few years ahead of Delia in their training and had been friends for a long time, but Trixie had been nothing but kind and welcoming ever since Delia had arrived. Warm and bubbly, she was always game for fun and seemed to be the only person who wasn’t intimidated by Patsy’s cool demeanour, calling Patsy out when she was being standoffish and, one time, even banishing Patsy from the kitchen until she had ‘learnt to play nicely with the others’. Delia smiled to herself as she recalled the memory.

“You’re up very early for your morning off, Nurse Busby.” Trixie’s voice floated through the kitchen as she re-entered, dressed in her neatly pressed uniform, hair twisted up in a towel. 

“I’ve been awake for hours, the bloody birds wouldn’t shut up!” Delia laughed, handing Trixie a cup of tea. 

“Birds and babies; if only we had something more exciting to wake up to!” Trixie winked and settled herself at the kitchen table as Delia leant back against the worktop. “What are you up to this morning then, anything interesting?”

“Not really! I’ve been trying to sort my room out -I roped Pats into helping me build my new bookcase yesterday so I’m going to spend the morning marvelling at it.” 

Trixie smirked.

“Nurse Mount dishing out the DIY help? Well I never.” 

Delia chuckled, taking a sip of tea and preparing herself to ask the question that had been ricocheting around her brain since last night.

“Trixie… Did you… Did you know that Patsy had a sister?”

Trixie put down her mug and looked up at Delia.

“Oh…”

“No, no, don’t say anything!” Delia held her hands up to stop Trixie before she went any further. “Don’t tell me, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s Patsy’s business.”

Trixie smiled sadly, admiring Delia’s unwillingness to pry that was taking precedence over her obvious concern. 

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, Delia. I was friends with Patsy for an absolute age before she even slightly opened up to me. She’s a hard nut to crack, that one.” 

“Speak of the devil.” Delia looked up at the familiar sound of Patsy’s door opening, smiling as a few moments later Patsy entered the kitchen. 

“How did you -?” Trixie frowned at Delia, then shook her head. “Nevermind, I need to go and tame my hair before my shift!”

“How long have you got?” Patsy raised a cheeky eyebrow at Trixie, earning herself a light slap on the arm as Trixie left the room, leaving Patsy and Delia alone. 

“Good morning, Deels.” Patsy said brightly. “Do you fancy coming out for breakfast this morning? I don’t know if I can face another morning of jam and toast.”

Delia rolled her eyes dramatically.

“You middle class girls, you just can’t get used to eating the same thing every day, can you?”

Patsy narrowed her eyes good-naturedly.

“Variety is the spice of life, Busby. I’m going to use the shower, and when I come out I want you dressed, preened, and ready to go.”

Delia smiled as she watched Patsy leave the kitchen, finishing her cup of tea and trying to rid the image of Patsy in the shower that had forced itself, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delia tries to drink away her gay (we've all been there, right?)
> 
> Thanks so much for the feedback on this so far. It's so lovely posting a chapter in doubt and then getting positive comments on it, so thank you for that, it really has made me chuffed!

“I can’t believe I let you drag me into this.” Patsy lit another cigarette, downing her glass of whisky and catching the bartender’s eye for a second one. 

“Oh, Patsy, stop being a baby! He’s absolutely charming, you’ll adore him when he gets here.” Trixie peered through the crowded bar, narrowing her eyes until she spotted two sharply dressed gentlemen making their way towards them. “Here they are, look. Now wipe that scowl off your face and make an effort!”

Patsy let out a huff and attempted to plaster a smile on her face as the two men made their way over to them, shaking hands politely and introducing themselves. She surreptitiously checked her watch as she and Trixie followed them to a corner table, Trixie chattering away to her date excitedly whilst Patsy tried to work out how many hours she’d have to stay before she could sidle away and meet Delia in the pub. She had agreed to this double date for two reasons. The first was to stop Trixie mithering on about her lack of a boyfriend (a lack which Patsy had no qualms about whatsoever), and the second was to try and convince herself that she _could_ go on a date with a man and enjoy it… And yet here she was, checking her watch before they’d even been seated. She sat down and crossed her legs, taking a deep drag on her cigarette as she did so, and tried to concentrate on whatever inane drivel her date was talking. 

*

Delia sighed and took a sip of her drink, biting her lip as she assessed the cards in her hand. 

“Where’s your lass tonight, then?” The barman asked, concentrating on his own hand before placing a card on the bar between them.

“Oh, you bastard.” Delia muttered, looking at the card as the barman laughed. She played her own card and looked back up, meeting his eyes. “She’s on a date actually, Joe. She and Trixie have gone down the bars by the docks with a couple of fine young doctors. You know, the dapper types, polished shoes, cigars, pocket watch.”

Joe grinned at Delia’s description. It was rare for a woman to go to a pub alone at night, but Joe and Delia had become firm friends ever since Delia had begun her training. Both from working class backgrounds, they often shared a good-natured joke or two at the expense of Patsy, who always made an effort to use her grandest tones around Joe, taking the jokes in her stride and often making Joe howl with laughter.

“Lucky lads, they are then.” He said, playing his last winning card and giving Delia a wink as she threw hers down in a huff.  
  
"Another drink?”

Delia drained the last of her wine and placed the empty glass on the bar for Joe to refill. She thanked him as he placed a fresh one down, watching absentmindedly as he walked to the other end of the bar to serve a group of customers who had just come in. 

She thought back to earlier in the evening when she had waved goodbye to Patsy and Trixie; watched as they’d walked down the steps of Nonnatus arm in arm, Trixie dressed to the nines in a brand new dress, Patsy in a pair of slacks, much to Trixie’s chagrin, and a shirt that, when Trixie had first laid eyes on it, she’d thought was part of Patsy’s cubs uniform. Delia grinned, knowing that Patsy only ever wore the shirt when she wanted to annoy Trixie, and for some reason she was glad she’d worn it tonight. 

Delia didn’t mind that Patsy was going on a date. She absolutely didn’t. It would be ridiculous, she thought, to mind that her friend was going on a date, ludicrous to wish that Patsy had instead stayed here to have a boring evening playing cards in the pub with Delia. It would be completely _absurd_ to feel even slightly jealous of the fact that Patsy was spending her evening chatting and laughing with someone who, for all intents and purposes, was talking to her solely to decide whether or not they wanted to take her home. Delia gripped her glass as she thought of a faceless man, laughing at one of Patsy’s jokes, putting his too big hand over Patsy’s, leaning in close enough to smell the perfume on Patsy’s neck - 

“What’s up with you?” Joe’s voice pulled Delia from her reverie. “I only left you for about two minutes and you’ve got a face like thunder!”

Delia shook her head, putting the glass to her lips to avoid answering, taking a large mouthful of wine and wondering how much alcohol it would take to numb the rising tide of envy she could feel building; wondering how much wine she’d need to drink to avoid thinking about _why_ the envy was there in the first place. 

She knew why it was there, of course. She’d known since the first moment she set eyes on Patsy, heard her clipped, cut-glass tones, dripping with privilege but softened by compassion and kindness. Blue eyes, constantly sparkling with humour, lips the colour of red wine against porcelain skin. Legs that went on forever. God, those legs. Delia downed the rest of her glass, earning herself a raised eyebrow from Joe. 

“Just pour me another, Joe.” She said, putting her head in her hands. Joe did so, mutely, giving her a quick pat on the arm as he placed another red wine down in front of her. 

*

“Gosh, look at the time!” Patsy looked at Trixie pointedly. Her date had been talking incessantly about himself for at least an hour, stopping only to ask Patsy if she agreed with him (she didn’t), if she was having a nice time (she wasn’t), and if she’d read the paper he’d had published in The Lancet last month (she hadn’t, and nor she did not intend to). 

“Patsy, it’s 8 o’clock.” Trixie glared at Patsy with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, is it? I could have sworn it was 2am.” Patsy stood up. “I’m just nipping to the ladies, I’ve heard there’s a gripping information sticker on the side of the hand drier.”

Patsy stood and stalked over to the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her. Trixie rolled her eyes.

“She’s rather rude, your friend.” Patsy’s date raised his eyebrows at Trixie, who raised hers back.

“Maybe if you talked about something other than yourself, she’d be more willing to get involved in the conversation!”

“What’s she got to talk about other than horses and her daddy’s estate?”

“You don’t know a _thing_ about her, you pig-headed fool!” Trixie snapped, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly as she tried to keep calm. Loath as she was to admit it, Patsy’s date was everything Patsy had predicted him to be, and Trixie silently cursed herself for not meeting him for approval first hand. 

“I think it’s best if we call it a night,” she said to her own date, who nodded apologetically as Trixie gathered hers and Patsy’s coats. She stalked towards the bathroom just as Patsy was coming out.

“Oh, are we leaving?” Patsy said, mock disappointment in her voice.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you found these men and set your own dates up, just to spite me.” Trixie said, shaking her head as she handed Patsy her coat.

Patsy smiled cheerily as she followed Trixie into the night, glad the evening was over so soon and quickening her steps, hoping she could convince Trixie to pop into the pub on the way home and see if Delia was in there, propping up the bar with Joe.

*

“Hello trouble!” Joe nodded at Patsy as she popped her head into the door of the pub.

“Good evening, Joe!” Patsy gave Joe a warm smile as she glanced around the pub. “Has Delia been in tonight?

“Has she ever!” Joe smirked at Patsy. “You come to carry her home?”

In response to Patsy’s confused frown, Joe nodded to the end of the bar where Delia was slumped, her head on her arms, a glass of red wine tipping perilously in her hand.

“Oh, Lord.” Patsy called outside for Trixie to come in, holding the door as she appeared, smiling at Joe.

“Hello, Joe! Oh dear –“ Trixie raised her eyebrows as she noticed Delia, following Patsy over to her.

“Deels?” Patsy put her hand lightly on Delia’s arm, grabbing the glass of wine as Delia jumped. 

“Pats!” Delia slurred gleefully, slipping off her bar stool and wrapping her arms around Patsy’s waist. 

“Hello, you. Have you had a bit too much to drink?” Patsy asked, staggering slightly as Delia stumbled against her. 

Delia nodded her head, mumbling incoherently into Patsy’s shoulder as Trixie gathered Delia’s things from the bar. 

“Let’s get you home, sweetie.” Trixie said, linking her arm through one of Delia’s arms tightly as Delia secured her other around Patsy’s waist. 

Patsy waved goodbye to Joe as the trio stumbled out into the street, Patsy and Trixie propping Delia up and managing, with marginal success, to get her back to the nurses’ home. 

“Heavens, I hope matron isn’t snooping around, sticking her nose in!” Trixie whispered as they stumbled up the front steps like a bad circus act. 

“That’s all we need!” Patsy groaned, pushing the door open and looking around anxiously. “Seems like the coast is clear. Come on, Deels! Not far now!”

They managed between the three of them to get Delia to her room, where she collapsed, fully clothed, onto the bed, mumbling apologies towards Patsy and Trixie before falling asleep within seconds. 

“Even when she’s had enough wine to knock out a small horse she’s still politer than your date was!” Trixie laughed as they hovered in Delia’s doorway. 

Patsy smiled, knowing she would rather be in the company of a completely inebriated Delia than any of the men she had seen tonight, polite or otherwise. Saying goodnight to Trixie, she made her way to the kitchen and filled up a glass of water to leave at Delia’s bedside. Recalling the last time Delia had got herself into this state, Patsy grabbed a bucket from under the sink and returned to Delia’s room.

“How was your date?” Delia slurred, her eyes still shut as Patsy put the glass down on her bedside table and perched on the edge of the bed.

“Awful.” Patsy said, smiling. 

“Good.” Delia mumbled. “He wasn’t good enough for you.”

Patsy laughed, squinting at Delia through the dark.

“How on Earth did you come to that conclusion? You never even met him.”

“I still know, though. Nobody will ever be good enough for you.” Delia’s next sentence was muffled as she shoved her face further into the pillow, but Patsy caught the words perfectly. “They wouldn’t love you like I do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy tells Delia about her childhood.

Patsy stared at her ceiling, watching the spirals of smoke from her cigarette circle above. 

_They wouldn’t love you like I do._

That’s what Delia had said.

But she had also consumed an incomprehensible amount of red wine and Patsy was almost certain Delia wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. And besides, it wasn’t like nobody had said that to Patsy before. Trixie said she loved her all the time. (She had taken this up as an almost daily ritual, concerned that Patsy hadn’t been _nurtured_ enough and that her sense of self-worth had suffered as a result. Patsy had rolled her eyes and raised her eyebrows, but Trixie had continued her routine undeterred.)  
  
Delia had said it because they were friends. Good friends. Patsy berated herself for the butterflies that had appeared in her stomach when Delia had spoken. It wasn’t fair to take Delia’s words and twist them, make them into something she wanted to hear. It wouldn’t do to drag Delia into this chaos she was feeling. She stubbed her cigarette out and snapped her lamp off, letting out a sigh as she rolled over. It wouldn’t do at all, but as she closed her eyes and let sleep take her quicker than normal, the only thoughts in her mind were Delia’s words, over and over, her lilting Welsh tones a tonic to Patsy’s harsh inner voice. 

_They wouldn’t love you like I do_. 

*

“Good morning, sunshine!” Patsy smirked as she gently pushed open Delia’s bedroom door. There was a slight shuffling under the duvet, followed by a low, anguished groan. 

“How’s the head?”

“Oh my God, Pats.” Delia sat up cautiously, pushing her messy fringe out of her eyes and squinting at Patsy as she sat down on the edge of the bed and handed Delia a cup of tea. 

“I feel like death warmed up!”

“You don’t look much better!” Patsy laughed. “You must have doubled Joe’s profits last night!”

Delia groaned again, wrapping her hands around the mug gratefully. Her memory of last night was extremely fuzzy. There was a bucket next to her bed, she assumed Patsy had put it there, and she could barely recall even getting home.

“Did you come and get me from the pub?”

“Trixie and I practically carried you home.” Patsy gave her a lopsided grin.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” Delia screwed her face up in embarrassment as Patsy laughed again. “Oh! How was your date? Was he as dishy and charming as Trixie promised?”

Patsy settled down on top of Delia’s duvet, certain now that Delia couldn’t remember anything from the previous evening, and began to fill her in on the disastrous date. Delia laughed in all the right places, rolled her eyes when Patsy relayed her date’s terrible manners, and scoffed when Patsy told her what he’d said to Trixie when Patsy had gone to the bathroom. 

“He’s right, though.” Delia said thoughtfully.

“Right about what?” Patsy frowned.

“What _do_ you talk about other than your ponies and your rich father?”

Delia ducked, laughing, as Patsy went to swat her. 

There were a few moments of comfortable silence before Delia spoke again.

“Pats?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“Now, you absolutely don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, just say the word and I’ll never ask again. I’m just worried that if I don’t ask, you won’t tell me, even if you wanted to, or you might not want to, which, as I said, is obviously fine, but I just want you to know that if you _do_ want to tell me, you can.”

Patsy laughed at Delia stumbling over her words.

“Just spit it out, Deels. What is it?”

There was a brief silence as Delia braved herself to voice the question, and then –

“Will you tell me about them? Your family? Will you tell me what happened?”

Patsy eyebrows raised slightly in surprise.

“Oh.” Whatever she’d been expecting Delia to ask, it wasn’t that.

“I mean, obviously, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I just… I just want you to know that you can.”

Patsy was silent for so long Delia thought that she’d completely written off the question, but eventually, Patsy spoke. 

“My father was a shipbroker in Hong Kong.” Patsy’s voice was oddly formal, talking as though she were relaying a patient’s information back to the doctor. “I lived there with him until I was 9 years old - myself, him, my mother, and Elisabeth...”

Delia stared at the ceiling as she listened to Patsy telling her story. She felt her stomach knot as Patsy told her how her family had been put in an internment camp at the start of the war, told her how they’d been separated from her father, starved, beaten and abused. Delia had known something awful had happened, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Nothing had prepared her to hear how Patsy had watched, helpless, as her mother and sister had died, leaving her alone without a soul in the world until she was reunited with her father at the end of the war, by which time he was a shell of the man she’d known and packed Patsy off to boarding school, nothing to her name except a body full of scars, a head full of horrors, and a trust fund she couldn’t care less about. By the time Patsy stopped talking, Delia felt sick to her stomach. 

“God, Pats…” She said quietly, unable to think of anything else to say. No words seemed able to do justice to how she was feeling. She thought of her own childhood – green fields, blue seas, endless days of freedom. Of course they’d been affected by the war, too, but in such a way that they’d had to ration food and house a couple of evacuees – not fight tooth and nail for survival. 

Patsy shrugged, sitting up on the bed.

“It’s in the past now,” she said, buttoning up her cardigan. “And there were people there who had it much worse than I.”

Somehow, Delia doubted this. 

“Anyway.” Patsy looked at her watch. “I’d better dash, I’m to be at the London in fifteen minutes! I’ll see you tonight when I get off shift.”

“Wait, Pats – “

But before Delia could say another word, Patsy had dashed out of the door and off down the corridor. Delia waited until she was sure Patsy was out of earshot before turning over, pulling her pillow close to her and bursting into tears. 

*

“A prisoner of _war_ camp though, Trixie!” Delia closed her text book, unable to concentrate any longer and finally admitting to herself that she wasn’t going to get any more work done that afternoon.

“I know.” Trixie sighed sadly, closing her own book and lighting a cigarette. “It’s absolutely horrific. Some of the stories she’s told me of what happened there…” Trixie shuddered.

“I just… I can’t believe it.” Delia shook her head. “Oh, God.” She said as something suddenly dawned on her. “Oh, _God!_ ”

“What is it?” Trixie said in alarm.

“The other day at breakfast!” Delia put her head in her hands and groaned. “I said something like, _you middle class girls just can’t get used to eating the same thing every day!_ Oh my _God_ , what an _idiot!_ I can’t believe I said that!”

“Oh, Delia, I’m sure she didn’t mind.” Trixie leant over the table and put her hand on Delia’s. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, you weren’t to know.”

“Jesus, poor Patsy.” Delia met Trixie’s eyes, her own filling against her will with tears.

“I know,” Trixie said again. “But don’t act any different around her now you know. She’ll go mental. You know what she’s like, she can’t stand any kind of pity.”

“God, Trix, it’s not _pity!_ ”

“I know that, Delia.” Trixie said, smiling. “But as I said… You know what she’s like.” Trixie looked at her watch. “She’ll be finishing her shift soon. I’m going out on a date with Peter – we’re trying to have a re-do of last night without his pig-headed friend – but why don’t you take Patsy to Joe’s? I think she deserves to have at least one good night this weekend, and you can finish off all the wine you didn’t get to last night.”

Trixie gave Delia a wink as she grimaced.

“I suppose so.” Delia said, checking her own watch. “I do need to get back on the horse, and you’re right – Pats could definitely do with a few whiskys down her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit dubious about this chapter. I'm not entirely sure I've done it justice. Hopefully the next one will be better! (and we'll see what happens when Patsy and Delia are a bit under the influence...)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is verging on smut, just a warning! So if that's not your thing, feel free to skip it and I'll do a quick recap at the start of the next chapter to fill you in with anything you might have missed :)

“Good evening, Nurse Mount.”

Delia nodded formally as Patsy came through the kitchen door and dropped herself into a chair at the table. 

“You seem awfully chipper!” Patsy frowned in mock suspicion.

“Well, my hangover has cleared off, finally! So I thought I’d take you out for a drink, if you’re up for it? As a thank you, for getting me home last night.” 

Patsy grinned as Delia looked sheepishly at her hands. 

“I don’t think I can turn down the offer of a free drink when it presents itself!” Patsy chuckled, glad the morose mood of the morning’s conversation hadn’t lingered. “Where’s Trixie?”

“On a date with whatshisname.” Delia replied, waving her hand absentmindedly. “He’s taking her to see his favourite musical, apparently.”

Patsy raised her eyebrows. 

“Favourite musical indeed. I must say, he’s not Trixie’s usual type. He seemed awfully… effeminate.”

Delia shrugged.

“Who knows with Trixie, she’s full of surprises that girl. Anyway, go and have a shower and get your gladrags on! You and I have some drinking to do.”

“Gosh, yes. It’s been what?” Patsy looked at her watch. “19 hours since you had a drink? You must be gasping!”

Giving an indignant Delia a cheeky wink, Patsy slipped out of the kitchen and into the bathroom, feeling oddly cheerful at the idea that Trixie wouldn’t be joining them. 

*

Patsy closed her eyes and tried to steady herself at the bar as she ordered another whisky. Her head swam as visions of Delia swirled around her mind. She looked incredible. It was all Patsy could do to concentrate on the conversation, so enraptured was she by the sight of Delia’s skin, her naked shoulders taunting Patsy, the neckline of her dress dipping just low enough that Patsy could see the beginnings of cleavage. She needed to stop this. She needed to go home, get into her own bed, and push Delia to the back of her mind until she was thinking clearly again. She picked up her drink and made her way back to their table.

“Pats, I’m absolutely smashed.” Delia drained the last of her glass, slamming it clumsily on the table and trying not to think about how Patsy’s thigh was pressed firmly against her own. She willed herself to move away, just an inch or two so they weren’t touching quite as closely… Delia tried not to let her eyes drift once more to Patsy’s lips as they’d been habitually doing all night, staring as Patsy took a drag on her cigarette, watching, transfixed, as she slowly exhaled, a cloud of smoke appearing through the opening of bright red lips. 

“Quite.” Patsy nodded, putting her glass to her lips and finishing her whisky in one. “Let’s get home.”

Standing up, she grabbed Delia’s hand in her own, pulling her up and leading her out of the door, not bothering to wave goodbye to Joe.

Patsy said nothing on the walk home, her brain too focused on the feel of Delia’s hand in hers, too afraid to speak lest she unwittingly admit how her insides felt like they were melting every time Delia spoke, how her hand was tingling at every bit of contact, her navel tugging in want every time she caught a hint of Delia’s perfume.

They entered the nurses’ home in silence, kicking their heels off at the door, walking up to Patsy’s room, hands still clasped.

“We should have a night cap.” Patsy whispered, a tremor in her voice, pulling Delia inside and shutting the door behind her.

“Yes.” Delia swallowed as she met Patsy’s eyes, turning slightly so they were face to face, inches apart. Delia felt intoxicated by the smell of Patsy; a blend of cigarettes, perfume and whisky that created an aroma so familiar, so torturous… She pushed her body unconsciously closer to Patsy’s, her breath catching in her throat as she felt Patsy’s hand on her hip.

 _Stop it, Patsy._ Patsy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. _What the hell are you doing?_ She closed her eyes, willed herself to take her hand from Delia’s hip, even as she ran a thumb over the soft material of Delia’s dress. She felt Delia press herself even closer, felt her breath on her neck.

Patsy swallowed, suddenly aware of every nerve ending she possessed, every inch of her yearning for Delia, craving her skin, her lips, her tongue on Patsy’s own. She rested her forehead on Delia’s, taking small, unsteady breaths, closing her eyes once more, fingertips grasping, clutching at the edges of self-control. 

When she heard her own name pass Delia’s lips, her resolve shattered.

Patsy grabbed Delia’s hips with both her hands and slammed her against the door, kissing her so forcefully her knees almost buckled there and then. Delia responded fiercely, her hands in Patsy’s hair, her tongue slipping into Patsy’s mouth as she let out a small, involuntary moan. 

Delia’s head hit the door as she threw it back, Patsy’s lips on her neck. She took her hands from Patsy’s hair, moving them instead to her shirt, pulling at the buttons, hands heavy with alcohol and lust causing several to fly to the floor. Delia could not bring herself to care; concerned only with the skin beneath the shirt, the sight of Patsy’s breasts, her own hunger to see more, to _feel_ more. She grabbed the top of Patsy’s shirt and yanked it down, throwing it onto the bed and slipping her hand up Patsy’s back, unclasping her bra with one quick snap of her fingers. Delia bit her lip as she let Patsy’s breast fill her hand, running a thumb over Patsy’s hardened nipple, gently tugging it between thumb and forefinger. She gasped slightly as she felt Patsy’s hand slide her dress up, slipping underneath it and running a hand agonisingly slowly up the inside of her thigh, over the front of her knickers until it rested, tortuously, on the waistband.

Patsy spoke, her voice low and throaty.

“Deels… is this okay?”

“God, Pats, yes.”

Needing no further encouragement, Patsy slipped a deft hand into Delia’s knickers, letting out a moan as she felt the wetness, running her fingers through the folds until her fingertips swiftly found what they were looking for and Delia let out a small cry, sinking her nails into Patsy’s back.

Patsy almost cried out herself at how good Delia felt. She wasn’t sure how long her own legs would hold her, felt them quivering as they held her up. She grabbed one of Delia’s thighs and pulled it up to her waist, wrapping it around herself and pushing herself closer to Delia, her fingers making urgent, quickening movements, closing her eyes tight as she slipped two fingers inside Delia and finally felt what she’d been dreaming of for months. 

Delia felt her body give in completely, sacrificing itself to Patsy’s touch, her breaths shallow and uneven as Patsy thrust into her. Every fibre of her being was consumed by lust, aching for Patsy’s skin, the feel of her naked body pressed against her…

By the time Delia collapsed onto her own bed in the early hours of the morning, she was spent. Images of Patsy, naked and biting her lip, writhing beneath her as she called out Delia’s name, ran through Delia’s mind as she drifted off into a relaxed sleep, her body finally sated after months of torment. 

*

The next morning, Delia looked up as the kitchen door swung open, her vision blurry, her brain too hazy to comprehend much of anything. Patsy entered, freezing in her tracks as she noticed who was sitting at the table. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before both looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.

Delia felt her face burning with the thought of what had happened last night.

Patsy hovered in the doorway, seemingly struggling to articulate her thoughts.

“We were drunk.” She said eventually, her tone brusque and terse. “Awfully, tremendously drunk.”

Delia nodded mutely, staring at her tea.

“Let’s just forget about it and get on with things.” Patsy stared resolutely at the floor. “It never happened. Agreed?”

Delia nodded again, unable to meet Patsy’s eye.

There was a heavy silence, as if both wanted to say something else, but neither could find the words. Eventually, Patsy left, walking briskly out of the room, the door swinging shut behind her and leaving Delia feeling more alone than she’d ever felt in her life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped the last chapter, here's a quick re-cap:  
> A lot of whisky and wine was consumed, and, with inhibitions out of the window, Patsy and Delia shared something a lot more than a night cap. In short, they had sex, and then agreed to pretend it didn't happen because they were both feeling incredibly super awks.  
> Sorry these chapters are a bit short - I'm hoping the regular posting makes up for it!

Delia felt hot tears spill over her cheeks, wiping them away crossly as soon as they appeared. She was sitting at the end of her bed with her head in her hands, a position she had been in almost the entire morning. She was angry at herself for letting last night get as out of control as it did and for getting Patsy caught up in the mess she’d created. This was all Delia’s fault. She knew she should have stopped it as soon as it began, but she had wanted it, _needed_ it, too badly. Her feelings for Patsy, coupled with copious amounts of red wine, had rid her of any shred of self control or rational thought she might have once possessed. She let out an anguished groan, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes as if they would be able to stop the tears from flowing, knowing that not only had she broken a lot of rules last night (the nurses’ home _and_ her own), but she was almost certain she’d lost her best friend in the process. 

She checked her watch, realising with a sinking feeling that she was due at the London in half an hour. She was dreading the thought of having to plaster a fake smile on her face and make small talk with patients, but the alternative, to stay at home and stew in her own destructive thoughts, seemed even worse. 

*

Patsy slammed the bathroom door, knelt over the toilet, and vomited. Her stomach had been churning throughout the day, not as a result of the amount of alcohol she had consumed the previous night (she had always been able to hold her whisky), but rather as a result of an entire day sat in her bedroom, smoking cigarette after cigarette, her mind and body reeling with emotional turmoil. Her brain was working overtime, one minute reassuring her that she wasn’t queer, that last night hadn’t been something she’d wanted; the next, screaming at her, shaming her into a deep well of self-hatred. 

She slumped against the wall and wiped a shaking hand over her brow, catching the beads of sweat that had appeared there. Shutting her eyes, she allowed herself a moment to regain her composure before heaving herself up and making her way back to her room, unwilling to stay any longer than necessary lest she run into anyone. She was in no mood for small talk. 

Shutting her bedroom door sharply behind her, she threw herself onto the bed, pressing her face into the pillow as she let out a shout of torment. Not only had she committed something she’d been told was a sin her entire life, she had undeniably ruined her friendship with Delia. Whatever bond they’d shared was over - Patsy had severed it, well and truly. Delia would probably despise her now, and Patsy couldn’t blame her. It was entirely Patsy’s fault. She had been the one to grab Delia’s hand, pull her into her bedroom, push her up against the wall... 

She sat up and grabbed her cigarettes from her bedside table, lighting one and inhaling deeply, willing the smoke to fill her lungs and displace the empty feeling that was starting to settle in the pit of her stomach. When her cigarette reached its end, she stubbed it out, shook another out of the almost empty packet, and put it to her lips, smoking it until there was only a tab left. As she took a final drag, there was a knock on her door and Trixie poked her head around without waiting for an answer.

“God, Patsy!” Trixie coughed, coming fully into the room and shutting the door behind her. “Have you been chain smoking all day? Your room’s like a fire pit! What’s wrong?” Trixie eyed Patsy with concern. “You look dreadful!”

Patsy cleared her throat as Trixie sat down next to her on the bed.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” She rasped, her voice a showcase of evidence of the abuse it had undertaken for the past several hours. 

“Hmm.” Trixie raised her eyebrows sceptically. “Delia said the same when I saw her at the hospital looking worse than the patients! Have you two had a row?”

“Honestly Trixie, it’s nothing.” Patsy shook another cigarette out of the packet, not having the energy to resist when Trixie gently took it out of her hand and put it back. 

“Sweetie, come and have some dinner.” Trixie said softly, taking Patsy’s hand. “If you’re not going to talk to me, you can at least let me make sure you’re nourished. Cigarettes don’t count as nutrition.”

Patsy shook her head, grimacing in regret as she did so. Her head was pounding.

“I’m not hungry, Trix.”

Trixie sighed sadly, running a thumb over Patsy’s knuckles. 

“I’m going to bring you something in, then. Something plain. I’ll just leave it on your bedside table, and you can eat it if you want to, or you can sit there and glare at it.” Trixie gave Patsy a quick peck on the cheek and stood up, making her way to leave. “I love you.”

Patsy sighed as the door shut behind Trixie, wondering if her love would be so freely given if she knew what Patsy had done. She felt an unfamiliar onslaught of tears, Trixie’s kindness causing a surge in the emotions Patsy usually kept well in check. Pulling back the blankets, she crawled into bed, turning around so her back was to the door, and wrapped her arms around herself. When she heard Trixie come back a few moments later and place a plate of something on her bedside table, she closed her eyes, feigning sleep, willing her tears to cease their attack, if only for a few moments until Trixie left.

“Patsy…” Trixie’s voice was soft. 

Patsy said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stifle her tears.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Patsy felt Trixie’s hand on her arm and, unable to hold it in any longer, choked out a sob, putting her hand over her face as she felt Trixie climb into bed behind her. Knowing she wouldn’t get any response, Trixie said nothing and simply wrapped her arms around Patsy’s waist as she cried. 

*

As the days turned into weeks, Patsy threw herself into her studies, spending every waking hour pouring over books and essays, filling her brain with as much medical knowledge as she could in an attempt to distract herself from the pain of her broken friendship with Delia. They had spoken barely two sentences to each other since the events of _that night_ , and whenever they did speak, it was stiff and formal. Patsy felt as though she was grieving, as though in losing Delia she had lost a part of herself. She knew it was ridiculous. She had been fine before Delia, and she would be fine now, but she couldn’t help but feel that the only warmth she’d felt in 14 years had suddenly turned to ice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A magnitude of moping.

Patsy bit her lip in concentration as she re-read the paragraph she had just written, frowning as she scribbled something out and made a neat note in the margin. It was a Friday night and she and Trixie were sat in the common room, papers spread out on the table, both having passed on a night out in the pub with the other nurses in favour of making a dent in their growing workload. 

“Where’s that book, Trix?”

“Which book?” Trixie didn’t look up from her essay, absorbed in her work.

“The one you borrowed yesterday.”

“Delia’s got it, it’ll be in her room.” Trixie said absent-mindedly, her eyes still on the paper in front of her.

“Will you go and get it?”

“Patsy, I’m in the middle of something, just go and ask her for it, will you?”

“Trixie –“

“Patsy, no.” Trixie looked up now, a stern look on her face. “I don’t know what’s happened between you two, because you won’t tell me a thing about it, but frankly I’m absolutely sick to death of it. If you want to talk to me about it, you can, you _absolutely_ can, and you know that. I will always have time to listen to you, Patsy. If you want to keep it to yourself, that’s absolutely fine too, but what I _don’t_ have time for is going back and forth between the pair of you like a blasted messenger pigeon anytime one of you wants something. Just walk to her room, ask her for the book, and stop being so pathetic.”

Trixie went back to her writing, leaving Patsy to silently fume at her from the other side of the table. Patsy had not said anything further about Delia since the night she had cried on Trixie’s shoulder. She had been mortified, never having cried in front of Trixie, or anyone for that matter, the entire time they’d been friends. Trixie had tried to coax it out of her over the following days, but Patsy had retreated back into her shell, her mask firmly planted back on her face, determined not to let it slip again. Eventually, Trixie had given up, instead taking up the topic with Delia, who was, if possible, even vaguer in her responses than Patsy, leaving Trixie to reluctantly accept that an explanation was apparently not forthcoming. Patsy let out a loud huff (which Trixie ignored) and pushed her paper away from her, standing up sulkily and making her way down the corridor to Delia’s room.

Counting to three, she rapped sharply on the door, hoping that Delia had gone out with the other nurses so Patsy could slip into her bedroom undetected and take the book back without any awkward conversation, but she doubted this was the case. Delia had become somewhat of a recluse since she and Patsy had stopped talking. She would often come into the kitchen late at night, eating her meals on her own, or not eating them at all. (Patsy wouldn’t admit it, but she had taking to buying ‘communal snacks’ for the kitchen in the hopes that if Delia wasn’t going to eat proper meals, she might at least eat something that she could just grab on the way to her shift.) It was difficult for Patsy to feign indifference to Delia’s obvious suffering, especially knowing that she was the cause. She had tried to ignore the bags under Delia’s eyes when she allowed herself a surreptitious glance at the Welshwoman over a seminar room, tried stop herself from noticing the drawn pallor of her skin, the dulled tone of Delia’s voice whenever she had to speak to someone.

The other nurses had noticed a shift in the atmosphere between Patsy and Delia and deliberated between themselves about the cause. A master at masking her emotions after years of perfecting it, and being known for being brusque and abrupt even at the best of times, the change in Patsy was noticeable only by Trixie’s keen eye. Delia, on the other hand, had always worn her heart on her sleeve and the struggle to hide her emotional state from the others was turning out to be more of a challenge than she had anticipated. The absence of a constant babble of softly accented chatter in the common room of an evening had been noticed by the others and with Delia spending the majority of her free time holed up in her bedroom they hadn’t really had a chance to ask her about it. 

None of them had dared to ask Patsy. 

*

Delia stared at her pile of records hopelessly, unable to deal with the silence of her bedroom any longer but unable to find a song that didn’t make her feel either bitter or even more miserable than she already felt. She rested her forehead on her bookshelf, feeling suddenly homesick. She had never been homesick before in her life, always up for an adventure, often forgetting to ring her parents and check in, so comfortable and happy was she wherever she was. Recently, however, Delia had missed the hustle and bustle of Pembrokeshire. She missed her mam’s cooking. She missed going for walks in the countryside, chatting to people in the village, playing cards and drinking beer with her dad. She had been tempted to ring him more than once in the past few weeks, stalling every time she passed the old red phone box at the end of the road, desperate to hear his voice, to feel reassured by his gentle teasing, to know that she was loved. But he knew her too well. He would know something was wrong, and Delia didn’t know if she’d be able to deny it if he asked.

She sighed as she heard a knock on her bedroom door, calling out for whoever it was to come in.

Delia looked up as Patsy entered, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. 

“Hello…” She said unsurely, placing the record she was holding back on the shelf. 

“Trixie mentioned she’d lent you a book?” Patsy said brusquely, shutting the door behind her. “I wondered if I might have it back.”

“Oh, yes. It’s around here somewhere.” Delia fumbled around on her desk, shuffling bits of paper and moving various items around in the hopes of unearthing what she was looking for. Her fingers shook as she rifled through her things, desperate to find the book and alleviate the deafening silence that had suddenly descended on her bedroom. She could feel Patsy’s eyes burning into her, her mind replaying the events of the last time they’d been alone in a room together…  
  
Delia finally uncovered the book under a cardigan on the floor and handed it breathlessly to Patsy, their fingers brushing as she did so. The feel of Patsy’s skin made her shiver and she could see Patsy’s chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She let her eyes wander to Patsy’s lips, red and full, remembering how they’d felt against her own… Patsy met her gaze, her light blue eyes softer than Delia had seen them in weeks.

“I miss you…” Delia breathed, unable to stop the words spilling out of her mouth.

Patsy nodded silently. She could feel the tension between them building, could feel herself being drawn to Delia, as though a piece of elastic was pulling them together. 

“I should go.” Patsy whispered, not breaking eye contact. She held up the book. 

Delia nodded, watching as Patsy slowly opened the door and backed through it. She stood still, staring at the place where Patsy had disappeared, breathing in the scent of Patsy’s perfume that was lingering in the room. She was still stood there when the door reopened moments later and Patsy stormed back in, dropped the book to the floor, raised her hands to cup Delia’s face, and kissed her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Delia take the first step in talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter doesn't read as disjointed as it feels!

Patsy and Delia broke apart, their faces still inches from each other, Patsy breathing heavily, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered dazedly as Delia stared at her, her eyes wide with surprise. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Did you want to?” Delia’s voice was barely above a whisper. She didn’t move her hands from Patsy’s hips, where they had automatically landed as Patsy kissed her.

“Yes.” Patsy said quietly, nervous but truthful.

Delia swallowed.

“Do you still want to?”

Patsy held eye contact as she slowly, but unmistakably, nodded. 

This time it was Delia who closed the gap, pulling Patsy closer towards her until their lips met once more. Patsy felt her legs go weak as Delia kissed her, the butterflies she felt whenever Delia even so much as brushed past her waking up and kicking up a storm in her stomach. 

“God, I’ve missed you,” Patsy murmured into the kiss, feeling the now too familiar onset of emotion working its way through her body. She felt Delia’s lips tense against her own and knew that she, too, was on the verge of tears. Breaking the kiss, Patsy put her arms fully around Delia’s shoulders and brought the smaller girl to her, holding her to her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut tight and took a shuddering breath. 

“Pats, I miss you so much,” Delia sobbed, clutching the back of Patsy’s shirt. 

Patsy could only nod, her own silent sobs leaving her unable to speak. 

They held each other firmly, the feelings they had been bottling up for the past month finally bubbling over, making themselves known. Patsy hadn’t realised fully the extent of her misery until now; had not allowed herself to feel it in its entirety, instead pushing it deep down inside of her, along with the rest of her feelings. She suddenly felt as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders, the feel of Delia in her arms flooding her with warmth. 

“I should go.” She said again, resting her cheek on the top of Delia’s head. 

“Can we talk later?” Delia made no move to take her arms back. 

Patsy closed her eyes, letting the feel of Delia’s body and the scent of Delia’s hair overwhelm her. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted Delia. She didn’t want to revisit the feelings of fear and anxiety she had felt the day after she and Delia had… 

Had what? Patsy had exerted so much effort forcing herself not to think about it, forcing herself not to admit what had happened, that her brain hadn’t even managed to formulate language for her to verbalise the events. She knew, however, that if she wanted Delia back (and she was brave enough to admit now that she did), she would have to acquiesce. 

“We can talk.” She said, quietly. She pulled back gently and locked eyes with Delia. Delia gave her a small smile, her eyes a little bluer than they had been five minutes ago. 

*

“Did she give you it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The book? That you went to get half an hour ago?”

Patsy looked down at her empty hands. She’d left the book on the floor, where she’d dropped it when –

“No.” She said stupidly. “No… It turns out it wasn’t the one I needed.”

Trixie eyed her suspiciously as she sat back down and stared at her essay. She touched her lips, still able to feel Delia on them. She thought about the way Delia had kissed her, passionately, her delicate hands seizing Patsy’s shirt and pulling her closer. They weren’t the drunk, clumsy kisses of someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Delia had _wanted_ her. She had wanted her the way _she_ wanted Delia. 

Patsy shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the thought that she and Delia wanted _each other_. They couldn’t. It wasn’t allowed in the nurses’ home, and it certainly wouldn’t be allowed in the jobs they would eventually get. But as she thought about the way Delia had felt pressed against her, allowed herself, just for a second, to remember the soft skin of her breasts and the sound of her breath, quick and shallow, in Patsy’s ear… Nothing had ever felt less wrong in her entire life. 

“Patsy!”

Patsy snapped her head up to find Trixie staring at her expectantly. 

“Sorry?” 

Trixie frowned.

“Were you listening to a word I said?”

Patsy blinked, causing Trixie to quirk an eyebrow in amusement.

“What on Earth is wrong with you?”

Patsy blinked again, unable to think of anything to say that didn’t revolve around the softness of Delia’s lips. 

“Patsy…” Trixie looked closer, a shadow of concern ghosting her features. “Have you been crying?”

Patsy shook her head again.

“No, no, I’ve just been… hayfever.” Patsy closed her eyes in embarrassment. _Hayfever?_

“Yes. The pollen count is an absolute menace in February.” Trixie looked back at her essay casually as Patsy felt the heat creeping up her face.

“I’m sorry, Trixie. I just –“

“Don’t want to talk about it?” Trixie finished Patsy’s sentence with practiced ease. 

Patsy looked down sheepishly.

“Patsy.” Trixie reached over the table and laid a hand on Patsy’s, forcing Patsy to meet her eyes. “You don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to. But I _really_ think you should - even if it isn’t to me. It’s not healthy when you do this.”

Patsy sighed, wondering what it would be like if she _could_ talk to Trixie. Pour her heart out, assess her feelings with her best friend, ask Trixie for advice. Instead, she stayed silent, lighting a cigarette and picking her pen back up, despite being already resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on anything else tonight, her looming talk with Delia laying heavy on her mind. 

*

Patsy jumped as Delia opened her bedroom door and peered out into the hallway.

“Patsy, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Patsy tried to arrange her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression. Delia raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve been pacing outside my bedroom door for ten minutes.”

Patsy bit her lip. She had been trying to pluck up the courage to knock on Delia’s door. As usual, Delia had beaten her to it.

“Do you want to come in?” Delia’s voice softened slightly as she took in Patsy’s nervous demeanour. She held the door open a little wider and Patsy slinked through it, feeling her heart rate pick up the pace as she heard Delia shut the door behind her. She took her cigarettes out of her pocket and shakily shook one out, putting it to her lips and lighting it, hearing the bed springs squeak slightly as Delia sat down on her mattress. Patsy couldn’t bring herself to look at her, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. 

“Pats?”

“I don’t know what to say, Delia.” Patsy wrapped her cigarette free arm around herself as she began pacing again. She heard the bedsprings squeak once more as Delia stood up and crossed the room.

“Patsy, stop. Look at me.”

Patsy blew out a plume of smoke and let her eyes wander over to meet Delia’s. 

“What do you want from me?” Delia asked simply.

Patsy didn’t answer, taking another drag of her cigarette. She knew exactly what she wanted from Delia. She wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to wrap her long body around Delia’s smaller frame. She wanted to spend every waking minute exploring Delia’s skin, counting the freckles on the bridge of Delia’s nose, feeling the soft skin of Delia’s legs tangled with her own. She wanted to give Delia everything she had. She wanted to worship her. She wanted to love her. 

“I don’t know.” She said instead, unable to say what she really wanted to. To admit it to herself was one thing. To say the words to Delia was quite another. 

“Yes you do.” Delia implored. 

Patsy put her cigarette to her lips once more, willing herself not to cry. Again. She could count on one hand the amount of times she’d cried in the past ten years, and yet in the past month alone she had shed tears more times than she cared to admit. 

“Deels…” She looked at Delia’s face and found her anxiety mirrored. “We can’t.”

Patsy drew a shaky breath. Her words were not a statement, but an admission. And Delia knew it.

“I don’t care.” Delia said determinedly. 

Patsy walked over to the window and stubbed her cigarette out on the ledge, sliding the pane up and flicking her cigarette out into the garden below. She let the cold night air blow in, her hands becoming cold instantly, her long fingertips drumming nervously on the windowsill. After a few moments, Delia came up behind her, sliding the window down gently. 

“Pats, I want you.” She said softly as their eyes met in the dark reflection of the windowpane. “I don’t care if it’s ‘not allowed’. I don’t care if someone I’ve never met who doesn’t know a thing about me, or us, decides we can’t. I don’t care about any of it.”

“I can’t stop myself from wanting you.” Patsy heard herself whisper. She closed her mouth tightly, unsure of how to continue, or if she wanted to. She felt Delia’s hand gently on her upper arm and closed her eyes at the touch. She needed to tell Delia that they were friends. That this couldn’t happen. That they needed to nip it in the bud and be done with it.

Instead, she turned around and pulled Delia to her, pressing their lips together, her hand gripping the small of Delia’s back. She would end it now, she thought, as she slipped her tongue into Delia’s mouth, running her other hand through Delia’s thick hair. 

Nothing had ever felt like this. 

She felt Delia’s hand on her cheek, heard herself let out an unconscious moan as the kiss deepened. 

“This is crazy.” Patsy mumbled, nibbling gently on Delia’s bottom lip. 

“I know.” Delia breathed, her fingertips tracing patterns on the nape of Patsy’s neck. “But it doesn’t feel it.”

It didn’t, Patsy thought as Delia kissed her again. It didn’t feel crazy at all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talks are big, and the feels are deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about this late update - I started a new business venture this week and it's been absolutely hectic! I have most of the next chapter written though, so hopefully it'll be up soon. Let me know what you think - I always appreciate feedback (and constructive criticism if you have it!)

Patsy watched the smoke from her cigarette spiral above her. It was almost 3am. She and Delia were lying side-by-side on Delia’s bed, their bare shoulders touching, their breathing heavy.

Patsy hadn’t meant for it to happen. Again. She had planned on telling Delia that they should stop, that whatever it was that they were feeling needed to be stamped out. But then they’d kissed, and Patsy’s brain had filled with fog. She’d slipped a hand up Delia’s top and every bit of self-control she had evaporated into thin air. 

Again.

It wasn’t like the first time. There were no shirt buttons falling to the floor as fabric was roughly torn apart, no fingernails urgently dragged down skin. Instead, there were whispered reassurances, tentative touches that gradually grew in confidence, fingertips that dug quietly but firmly into backs as climaxes were reached. Patsy felt increasingly aware of her body without the comforting blanket of whisky, leaning over to tap her cigarette on the small ash tray on Delia’s bedside and tugging the blanket up slightly as she did so. 

“Are you okay?” Delia asked softly.

Patsy took another drag on her cigarette and thought about her answer.

“We can’t do this, Deels.” 

Maybe if she said it enough, it would stop her from wanting to. 

Delia sighed.

“Pats…” There was a silence, and then Delia sighed again, at a loss for what to say. She leaned over and grabbed a nightshirt from the floor, pulling it over herself and getting out of bed. 

“When did you know, Pats?” Delia leaned against her bookshelf and folded her arms, looking across the room at Patsy.

“When did I know what?” Patsy tapped her cigarette again on the small ash tray. Delia had always kept it on her bedside table for Patsy, despite not being a smoker herself, and Patsy found it oddly reassuring to find that Delia hadn’t gotten rid of it. 

“How you feel.” Delia said. “You know… about women.”

“What do you mean, _how I feel about women_?” Patsy’s voice had adopted a defensive tone as she pulled on one of Delia’s nightshirts, her own clothes in a discarded heap at the end of the bed. 

“Patsy, are you honestly going to sit there, after what we’ve just done, and try and tell me that you aren’t… the other way inclined?”

“I’m not queer, Delia.” Patsy’s voice was firm as she climbed out of bed, Delia’s bed shirt only just covering her, and started collecting her clothes. 

Delia closed her eyes, whether in sadness or frustration, Patsy couldn’t tell. 

“I have to go.” Patsy said bluntly.

“Patsy, don’t do this to me again.” When Delia’s eyes opened, they were shimmering with tears. “And even if you _do_ do it to me, just… please don’t do it to yourself, Pats.”

Patsy said nothing as she gathered the rest of her clothes, her eyes on the floor as she spoke.

“I have to go Delia. I’ve to be at the London in the morning for an early shift.” Patsy slipped through the door, pausing slightly with her hand on the doorknob as though she was about to say something else.

“Pats…” Delia put her hand gently on Patsy’s arm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Patsy cleared her throat and took her arm back, not looking at Delia as she turned and made her way down the hall, entering her own bedroom next to Delia’s, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft _click_.

*

Delia lent her head against the back of her door as she shut it behind Patsy. Her head felt heavy with emotion. She felt anger surge up in her. She knew now. Knew for certain how Patsy felt about her. It wasn’t a one off, drunken mistake. It wasn’t Patsy just _experimenting_. Patsy wanted her. And Delia wasn’t about to let Patsy shut her out. 

She wrenched her bedroom door open and stormed down the corridor, barging into Patsy’s room without bothering to knock.

“Delia, what –“

“Don’t you _Delia, what_ me, Patsy!” Delia fumed, slamming the door shut behind her. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to just _do_ that! You don’t get to come into my room, and be beautiful, and kiss me like that, and do _that_ to me without any kind of consequences. I _want_ you Patsy, and I don’t appreciate you doing all of that to me and then pretending that you don’t want me. How do you think that makes me feel? Do you think you’re the only one that’s scared? Do you think you’re the only one that’s fucking _terrified?_ Because you’re not. I’m terrified every single day. I’m terrified every single time I see you because my feelings are so huge and intense and powerful, and I don’t know what to do with them Patsy because you won’t _tell_ me what the fuck you want.”

Delia was breathing heavily, her eyes flashing dangerously as Patsy stared at her.

“So tell me.” Delia said, a tone of finality to her voice. “If you want me, you can have me. I’m yours. I don’t care about anything else, we can make it work, I know it. If you want me, I’m yours. But I can’t just be your friend, Patsy. Not now. Not after all this. You can have me, or that’s it. We’re done. Whatever this thing is that we’ve been dancing around for the past six months, it’s over.”

Delia took a deep breath.

“So what’s it going to be? Do you want me, or not?”

Delia watched as Patsy’s knuckles turned white, her hands balled into such tight fists she looked almost as if she was ready to fight. The silence was tangible. 

Eventually, Patsy spoke. The word rang in Delia’s ears as she walked back to her room, echoed around her head as she heard the unmistakable sound of a glass shattering against Patsy’s bedroom wall, felt it pierce her heart as she collapsed onto her bed, unable to even bring herself to clamber under her blanket, unable to bring herself to think about anything else other than Patsy’s final utterance.

“ _No._ ”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy is trying. But not hard enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this fic became so angsty! I always thought the thing I needed to work for the most in my writing was not letting all the happy stuff happen in the first two chapters, and now it appears I've gone a little TOO far the other way. But this is the last chapter of angst, I promise! Patsy is going to start getting her shit together soon and stop being a fool.

Patsy struggled to keep her eyes open as she tried to concentrate on what the doctor was saying to her group. She’d not had a wink of sleep, instead spending the remainder of the night pacing her bedroom, chain smoking until she ran out of cigarettes, straining her ears for any sounds of Delia from the other side of the wall.  
  
She’d lied to Delia. She knew it and Delia knew it. And Patsy hated herself for it. Hated herself for hurting Delia, hated herself for letting this happen, hated herself for what she was… 

_No._ Patsy squeezed her eyes shut determinedly. She wasn’t queer. She wasn’t. It was only Delia she wanted, Delia was the only woman she felt like this about. One woman didn’t make her queer. There were girls at school that Patsy had admired, of course; but that was normal. Natural. It was natural to want to hold your best friend’s hand, natural to feel butterflies when the loveliest girl in your class laughed at your joke… She wasn’t queer. She couldn’t be.

“Patsy?”

Patsy jumped as she felt a hand on her arm. 

“Are you okay?” 

Trixie’s concerned face swam into view.

“Gosh, yes, I’m fine.” Patsy gave Trixie a tight smile. “I was in a world of my own there, you just startled me.”

Trixie frowned.

“Patsy, you were in a ‘world of your own’ for five minutes, I’ve been watching you from the other side of the ward, your group was dismissed ages ago!”

Patsy looked around her and noticed that, sure enough, the doctor and the rest of her group had dispersed. 

She rubbed her eyes tiredly.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You look like you didn’t get _any_ sleep.” Trixie frowned again at the bags under Patsy’s eyes. “Patsy, I’m really worried about you. You’re scaring me.”

Patsy tried to give Trixie what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Honestly, Trix, I’m fine. I’m just a bit tired. My shift has finished now, so I’ll get home and have a nap.” Patsy shuffled the papers in her hands. “I’ll see you later?”

Trixie nodded.

“I’ve only got an hour left and then I’ll be home. Do me a favour, will you, Patsy? Don’t ride your bike home. I know it takes an awfully long time to walk, but I can’t bear the thought of you riding a bike when you look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up.”

Patsy gave her word and bade Trixie adieu. In all honesty, she didn’t think she’d be able to ride her bike even if she wanted to. She wrapped her cape around herself and headed out into the cold, collecting her bike from the front of the hospital and wheeling it slowly next to her as she started the long walk home. 

The wind whipped around her as she finally slotted her front wheel into the bike rack an hour later outside the nurses’ home. The walk had woken her up and, although her mind still felt hazy, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She trudged up the stairs and pushed the door to her room open with her shoulder, shaking her wet cape off and hanging it carefully up before she flopped down on her bed. There was a bottle of whisky on her bedside table that she and Trixie had opened the previous night and Patsy reached over to grab it, pulling the cork out and taking a swig, not bothering to find a glass. At the least, the whisky would numb some of the torment she was feeling. At most, it would knock her out enough to sleep. She took a few more large gulps, grimacing slightly as the spirit burned its way down her throat, and lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes, willing sleep to come. 

*

“ _Patsy!_ ” 

Patsy awoke with a start as she felt someone shaking her. Opening her eyes wearily, she squinted as for the second time that day, Trixie’s face appeared in front of her. 

“Have you been _drinking_ at 3 o’clock in the afternoon?” Trixie sat down on the edge of the bed, eyeing the open bottle of whisky with raised eyebrows. Patsy groaned.

“It wasn’t like that, Trixie. I was just trying to get to sleep.”

Trixie bit her lip.

“Sweetie… Please talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, just tell me so I can help. I can’t watch you do this for much longer – moping around like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, not sleeping, living off cigarettes and whisky. You’re a _nurse_ , for God’s sake. Just look at yourself.”

Patsy sighed heavily, propping herself up on her elbows. 

“I’m just having a bit of a rough time Trixie. I promise you, I’m fine.” Patsy gave Trixie’s hand a quick squeeze. “Honestly.”

“Come out tonight, then.” Trixie said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. “Peter and I are going to the flicks, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came along.”

“I’m sure he _would_ mind, Trixie! What kind of date would it be with me sitting there, neither use nor ornament?” 

Trixie laughed. 

“Peter loves you. He’d be thrilled!”

“Maybe next time, Trixie.” Patsy gave another reassuring smile. “I’m going to use tonight to try and properly catch up on my sleep.”

*

Patsy looked up from the cup of tea she was making as she heard someone knock on the front door of the nurses’ home. She waited a few moments to see if someone else would answer it, but when no footsteps came and the visitor knocked again, she put down her teaspoon and padded lightly down the hallway, pulling the front door open.

“Oh, hello, Peter!” She said as the young man from hers and Trixie’s double date tipped his hat on the doorstep.

“Evening, Patsy.” He smiled pleasantly. “Would I be right in guessing Trixie isn’t ready yet?”

“She does like to keep a gentleman waiting.” Patsy gave Peter a small grin and opened the door a little wider. “Come on in, no need to wait in the cold!”

Patsy chatted easily to Peter for a few moments as they waited for Trixie. He was much pleasanter than the friend he had brought on their date, asking Patsy polite questions about her day, supplying his own anecdotes to match hers.

“I’m here, I’m here!” 

Trixie came bounding down the stairs, giving Peter a cheeky wink as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Not chatting our Patsy up, are you Peter?” She asked warmly.

“I’m trying my best!” Peter teased. “Nice lipstick! Sunset Red?”

“Yes! Brand new!” Trixie smacked her lips playfully.

“We’re off to see the new Richard Burton film.” Peter told Patsy as Trixie pulled her coat on. “I just absolutely _adore_ him!”

“Those eyes!” Trixie said dreamily. Peter let out a contented smile and held his arm out for Trixie to grab onto. They bade Patsy good evening as she shut the door slowly after them, frowning. There was something about Peter…

But no.

She was reading too much into it. Over thinking things, as usual. 

She went back to the kitchen and picked up her cup of tea, noticing Delia’s favourite mug on the side. Her heart gave a pang. She needed to fix this. She needed to swallow some of her pride and make things right, if not for herself then for Delia. Delia deserved better than this. 

She awkwardly kicked Delia’s door in lieu of a knock a few minutes later, two cups of tea in her hand, pushing it open when she heard Delia call out and poking her head tentatively around the door frame.

“Tea?” She asked hopefully, holding one of the cups up. 

Delia eyed her stonily. 

Patsy sighed, coming in regardless and kicking the door closed behind her. 

“I’m sorry.” She said simply, putting the cups down on the desk where Delia was sitting. Patsy perched herself on the edge of the desk and clasped her hands together.

“What for?” Delia asked coldly. “I asked you a question, and you gave me an answer. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

Patsy knew Delia wasn’t going to make this easy for her. The self-destructive part of her was glad. She wasn’t sure she deserved to be let off lightly. She twisted the plain silver ring on her finger nervously, watched as it ran round her slender finger. 

“I’m sorry for not giving you the answer you want.” She said eventually. _For not giving you the real answer,_ her inner voice supplied unhelpfully. “I can’t bear to lose you, Delia.” Patsy stood up now, unable to sit still under Delia’s glare. She began pacing the room. “I need you. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose that friendship, I can’t bear it. I’m sorry that I’ve messed it up. It’s my fault, entirely it is, but I need you to understand… I can’t be with you. Not like that. But please…” Patsy felt her voice break as tears began to fall down her face. “Please don’t give up on me.”

She sat down on Delia’s bed as her sobs took over. She heard Delia stand and felt arms, warm and strong, wrap themselves around her moments later. 

“Shh, it’s okay Pats.” Delia rubbed her back gently, whispering in her ear. “It’s okay Pats, I’m here.”

“Delia, please.” Patsy said, unsuccessfully trying to calm her breathing. “Please can we just… be friends?”

She heard Delia sigh dejectedly. 

“I don’t know Pats.”

“Please.” Patsy knew she was begging, she could hear the desperation in her own voice. 

“Patsy, the way we feel… “ Delia’s voice was soft and kind. “There’s nothing wrong with it. You don’t have to swallow it down and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“I have to Delia.” Patsy wiped her tears away, a tone of finality to her voice.

There was a silence as Delia watched Patsy sadly, watcher her fiddle nervously with her jewellery. After a while, Delia spoke.

“What were they like, Pats?” She asked, lying back on the bed.

“What were what like?” Patsy turned to look at her.

“Your mam and sister. What were they like?”

Patsy stared at Delia. No one had ever asked her that before. She told them her story, they understood, and then it was never mentioned again. Occasionally she had spoken to Trixie about the camp, about the horrific things that happened there, but she’d never spoken about her family. No one had ever wanted to know anything else; either too afraid to ask, or too haunted by their own experiences of war to hear about anyone else’s. 

Patsy bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if this was Delia’s way of accepting her proposal, of trying to become friends again. Patsy took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her mind indulge itself with thoughts of her mother. It was rare she allowed herself to think about them, fearing that once she started, she mightn’t be able to stop. 

“My mother was the loveliest person you could ever meet.” Patsy’s eyes glistened as she pictured her mother’s smile, her sparkling eyes. “She was so kind to everyone, regardless of what they could do for her. I’ve never met anyone like her since, and I don’t think I ever will again. My mother would have loved you, Deels. You’ve got a very similar sense of humour. She was so down to earth. I’m afraid I inherited the majority of my father’s personality traits.”

She sighed.

“Elisabeth though… Elisabeth was all my mother. She was so funny. God, was she funny. That’s one of the things I’ll always remember most about her. How much she made people laugh. And not in the way adults often laugh at children; they didn’t humour her for her sake - she just made people laugh. She was the only ray of light in that God forsaken place. When she went, it was like the very sun had gone out. Like I’d never feel warmth or happiness again. And I didn’t, for a long time. I wished, for such a long time… I wished I’d gone with them.”

Delia felt her heart break, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as Patsy spoke.

“She was the one that got us through. She was always so positive and hopeful. I always felt so guilty about that. I should have been the one holding us together. She was so young, Delia… She was so little. It should have been me.”

“Patsy.” Delia sat up and took Patsy’s hand, looking her dead in the eye. “ _You_ were so young. It shouldn’t have been either of you.” She looked at Patsy’s anxious face. 

“How many people have you talked about this to?”

“Just you.”

“ _What?"_

“What?” Patsy frowned, confused.

“ _One person?_ In _fourteen years_ you’ve talked about this to _one person?_ ”

Patsy shrugged.

“What about your friends at school?” Delia looked incredulous.

Patsy made a face. 

Delia stared in exasperation.

“What?” Patsy frowned defensively. “It’s not anyone else’s business!”

“It’s not about _business_ , Pats! It’s about your emotional well-being, it’s about you –“ Delia shook her head. “Do you know what – nevermind. It doesn’t matter.”

Delia sighed. 

“Patsy…” She bit her lip, as if deliberating whether or not to say what she was thinking. “Don’t you think… Maybe… That you’re doing them a disservice? By not letting yourself be happy?”

Patsy stared as Delia’s words floated in the air.

“I’m perfectly happy.” She said eventually, her voice flat and anything but what it was proclaiming to be. 

“No, you’re not Pats. You’re lying to yourself, you’re lying to me… in fact, I think you’ve probably lied to every person you’ve ever met. You’re keeping such huge parts of yourself closed off. And I don’t just mean regarding us. I mean your family, your mother and your sister. Why are you keeping them locked up?”

“Because they’re _dead_ , Delia.” Patsy pulled a cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it with a trembling hand. 

“But they’re not dead to you, Patsy.” Delia said softly. “You’ve really got some things to figure out. What do you think is going to happen if you never let anyone in? What’s going to happen in life if you spend the whole of it refusing to remember the people you love? Refusing to let yourself love anyone else? Do you think that’s what they would have wanted?”

“I don’t _know_ what they’d have wanted. I never will. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Delia sighed again.

“Patsy, I can’t do this if you’re not going to work with me. I can’t spend my life forcing you to talk to me, walking on eggshells around you, worried I’m going to scare you off if I say the wrong thing. I won’t spend my life watching you sabotage yours.”

“Delia, none of this is about my mother and sister…”

“Of course it is. They’re part of who you are, Patsy. Your past is who you are. _This_ ,” Delia gestured between the pair of them, “is who you are. And I can’t watch you every day knowing that you’re denying it, knowing you’re denying yourself every good thing in life, afraid to let anyone in. I love you, Patsy.” Delia looked at the floor. “I love you, and I’m not afraid to say it, but I won’t sit around, forever keeping myself at an arm’s distance just because you’re too scared. I can’t be just your friend, Pats. It’s not enough for me anymore. I meant what I said last night.” Delia took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was so short with you, and I’m sorry if you think I’m being selfish, but I meant it. I want it all, or I want nothing. And you chose nothing.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy takes one for the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last chapter for a little while, guys! I'm going to take a tiny break (I accidentally wrote this fic because I had a block writing my other) but I'm going to come back to it at some point and carry on, don't worry! (Like you were... I know, who do I think I am, right? J. K. Rowling?)

Pasty screwed her eyes up as light flooded her bedroom and Trixie’s voice filled the silence that Patsy had been wallowing in. 

“Get up, Patsy. It’s 6pm for crying out loud, it’s dark out! Have you been in bed all day?”

Patsy groaned, pulling the duvet back over her head. She felt the bed dip as Trixie sat down on it.

“Are you ill?”

Patsy thought Trixie’s question over. Could heartbreak be considered an illness? Could it still be considered so if it was your own fault? 

“Yes.” She answered bluntly. 

Trixie sighed.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Patsy. Tell me. Please, just tell me what you need.”

“I need a distraction.” Patsy said, turning on her side and looking up at Trixie. “Tell me something. Anything. What did you do today?”

“I went shopping with Peter.” Trixie pushed some of Patsy’s hair out of her face as she spoke, tenderly tucking it behind her ear. “We chose some of the most _fabulous_ dresses.”

Patsy pushed herself up on her elbows.

“Trixie… Peter is very… He seems quite… Well, I don’t know how to put this –“

“Then don’t.” Trixie said, her voice suddenly stern. Her eyes met Patsy’s, and suddenly, Patsy understood. She raised her eyebrows.

“Trixie –“

“Everyone deserves happiness, Patsy. Who is anyone to tell anyone else who they can and can’t love? Peter is one of the most wonderful, caring, loyal, lovely human beings I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting and I’ll be damned, _damned_ if he doesn’t get the chance to become a brilliant doctor because of something he can’t help.”

Patsy felt a sudden surge of emotion roar up inside her. Before she even had a chance to bite them down, she had burst into tears, her arms around Trixie’s neck as she clung to her tightly, her chest heaving with sobs.

“Patsy, what…?” Trixie held Patsy tightly, her face confused until she had a slow, dawning realisation. “Oh my God… Patsy?”

Trixie pulled back slightly, looking at Patsy’s anguished face until Patsy’s eyes met hers and Trixie’s question was silently answered. 

“Oh my God.” Trixie repeated, pulling Patsy back to her as a fresh wave of sobs took her over. “Patsy, you ridiculous human being, why on Earth didn’t you tell me?”

Trixie held Patsy for what felt like hours, stroking her hair, whispering reassuring words into her ear, telling her she loved her, calming her down until her breathing finally, eventually, returned to normal.

“Patsy…” Trixie spoke gently, wiping the remnants of tears from Patsy’s pale cheeks. “All of this business with Delia… Is this what that has been about?”

Patsy nodded silently, closing her eyes.

“I’ve been so awful to her, Trix. She’s so much better at this than I am. She’s so strong and brave and fierce…”

“You’re all of those things, too!” Trixie insisted.

“Trixie, I’m not. I’m not at all. She deserves better than me. She deserves everything in the world. She deserves someone who isn’t an absolute mess, someone who’s not falling apart at the seams. She deserves… someone else.”

Trixie sighed heavily, cupping Patsy’s face in her hands and giving her a hard glare.

“Patsy. She doesn’t _want_ anyone else.”

*

Patsy wrapped her cape around herself, attempting to shelter herself from the bitter wind whipping across the surface of the Thames. She had taken herself out for some fresh air after her talk with Trixie in an attempt to clear her head after a day spent in bed. She kicked a stone, watching as it bounced off the pier and landed in the raging river below. Large, black clouds billowed overhead, threatening to burst at any moment, and Patsy knew she should cycle back or risk getting caught in the downpour. Instead, she leant against the railing, watching the water thrash beneath her as both Trixie’s and Delia’s words echoed around her head. They were soon joined by someone else’s words. 

_Never forget what it’s like to love, Patience._

That’s what her mother had said to her. 

_Never forget how this feels when I’m holding you in my arms. Love is the most powerful thing on this earth. It will get you through the hardest times of your life, if you let it._

Patsy turned on her heel and ran towards her bike as the clouds above her burst. She clambered back onto her bicycle and set off pedalling as the sky flashed above her, a roll of thunder rumbling through the city. She knew she should go straight home and wait for Delia there, but Patsy _couldn’t_ wait. She needed to see Delia.

Now.

She pedalled as fast as she could in the direction of the London, the way she knew Delia would be taking to get home. Her mind was racing, her heart hammering in her chest, the rain pounding down so severely she could barely see an inch in front of her face. As she skidded round a corner, her bike wobbling unstably, she spotted an unmistakable figure huddled over a bike, fiddling with the chain. Patsy screeched to a halt, dropping her bike unceremoniously on the pavement as she jumped off and strode over to Delia, who looked up just as Patsy got there.

“Pats! Thank God, my chain’s come off my bike and –“

“Delia, listen to me.”

Delia was silenced mid-sentence as Patsy started to talk.

“I want you. With every fibre of my being, I want you. I want you every single morning when I make a cup of tea and I want you every single evening when I go to bed. I want you when I’m mad and frustrated and angry. I want you when I’m sad. I want you when I’m at work, when I’m riding my bike, when I’m eating my dinner. I want you every minute of every day, Delia, and I have done since the moment I met you. I want to kiss you every morning when I wake up, I want to hear you laugh, even if you’re laughing at me. I want to be the person that gets to hold you when you’re sad, I want to watch you succeed and flourish and be happy. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole entire life. I don’t care about anything else anymore. I’m sorry I’ve put you through what I have. I’m more sorry than you know. I wasn’t ready for how you make me feel, but I realise now that I’ll never be ready. No one can ever be prepared to be so completely blindsided. And you’re right. I am scared. But the only thing that scares me more than being with you is the thought that I could spend the rest of my life _not_ being with you. And if that happened, I’d be living no life at all, because what else is there other than you? You said last night that that I chose nothing, but that’s not true. This isn’t a choice, Delia. And I know now that being anything other than completely, _utterly_ in love with you isn’t an option.” Patsy took a step closer to Delia, raising a hand to push Delia’s sopping fringe out of her eyes, watching as a mixture of raindrops and tears rolled down Delia’s cheeks. “But even if it _was_ a choice… I would still choose you. I promise. I’m ready. Every time, I would choose you.”

Patsy put her hands on Delia’s face and kissed her, right there, in the middle of the street, rain pouring down on them, drenching them to the bone. She felt Delia’s arms wrap tightly around her waist, felt Delia kiss her back with the love and passion and understanding that Patsy had been craving every single day since she’d met Delia. 

If being queer meant falling for your best friend, allowing someone to know the truest, rawest parts of you, feeling a love so huge it made the deepest parts of the ocean seem insignificant… If being queer meant that one could see the absolute horrors that Patsy had seen and still feel like there was nothing more beautiful in the entire world than to simply kiss the person you loved in the middle of the street in the pouring rain… 

Then _fuck it_ , she thought as she pulled Delia closer.

She was queer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and support guys - it's so hugely appreciated! You've all been absolutely bloody lovely.


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